In War
by Irene Djo
Summary: Part 7- The Negotiator faces off with his favorite healer, imparts wisdom on the younger generation, and is reminded of how he can continue to fight for the Light even in the midst of the darkness of war.
1. The Master

**In War**

"_In peace, sons bury their fathers. In war, fathers bury their sons." _

_-__Herodotus _

The orange, Coruscanti sun had set long ago, pulling the city into a false slumber as speeders raced through the skylines at all hours of the day and night. Yet Obi-Wan Kenobi could not find any respite in sleep. Despair seemed to cling to the air of the Jedi Temple, an orange haze that wouldn't wash out of the Jedi's tattered robes, remnants of the battle that had just occurred.

Blue eyes searched the med-wards for surviving childhood companions and comrades-in-arms. Guilt drove the Master onward into sleeplessness as he gazed at the sacrifice that had been made to rescue him and his apprentice.

There were too few wounded. There were too many dead. The funeral pyres burned through the night as the Jedi said farewell to their fallen.

The Halls of Healing were quiet. Kenobi stopped in front of a dark chamber where a critically injured Padawan laid. He bowed a silent thanks to the individual who had sacrificed so much in order to save he and his apprentice. The Padawan did not stir, but slept on.

A lone figure in the shadows caught his eye down the long corridor. He studied the Jedi who gazed out at the blur of lights and advertisements that was Coruscant at night. Master Kenobi prepared to take his wandering elsewhere—

"Stay, Master Kenobi," the quiet invitation could have almost sounded pleading.

"Master Zur," Obi-Wan bowed. The Zabrak turned to regard the other Master. "I did not mean to interrupt."

"Nonsense. I asked you to do so," Zur allowed a faint smile to grace his tattooed face, but quickly faded. His voice dropped to a murmur, so low that Obi-Wan had to strain his ears to hear, "I would love some company."

They stood in silence for a moment, both gazing out at the dizzying blur of speeders and neon advertisements. Obi-Wan stood at the other Master's side, waiting for the silence to break.

Stoic reserve hung in the air between them, the earmark of years of training. Molten grief bubbled below the surface of the stereotypical Jedi calm.

"How is young Anakin?" The Zabrak's yellow gaze did not stray from the window.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. "He will be fine. He is currently resting. Tomorrow he will be fitted for his cybernetic arm." He stifled the urge to shift from foot to foot. He was a Jedi Master, for Force sake. Jedi do not squirm.

"He fought well. I believe that he will make a great Knight."

Obi-Wan nodded. That much was easily apparent. Anakin's apprenticeship under him would soon come to an end. He paused, straining his memory. A smiling, human male's face came to mind. "You have a Padawan, correct? Near Anakin's age?"

Zur's shoulders seemed to momentarily slump. He shrank inwardly at the mention of his apprentice, as if slapped across the face.

"I did," the quiet admission stunned Obi-Wan into further silence. "The battle claimed him."

Obi-Wan took a minute step back, truly _looking_ at the Jedi next to him. The Force seemed to distort and blur, revealing the turmoil beneath the mask of calm. Zur's once imposing presence had been muted, caked and dulled with the blood of his apprentice's death and the clay of Geonosis. Mental shields did not entirely cover the writhing agony in the back of the Zabrak's mind where the training bond with his Padawan had once been.

Kenobi was stunned to silence. How had he missed that? Upon closer inspection, it was clear that the other Jedi was bleeding from wounds that could not be treated by medic droids or temple healers. When he found his voice, regret dripped from every syllable, "I am…sorry to hear that."

The elder Jedi did not respond. Obi-Wan slowly began to back away, but was again stopped. "We are servants of the Republic, Master Kenobi," the Zabrak began, his voice barely above a whisper. "And as Jedi, we are also guardians of one another, if necessary. I do not regret Geonosis."

The Force throbbed with the hurt in the Master's words. Obi-Wan's breath froze in his chest. The buried guilt resurfaced. So many had died…all to rescue Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padme Amidala, and Anakin Skywalker.

"He died as a Jedi, for other Jedi. If he were here, he would tell you: he did not once regret Geonosis, either." The façade of peace slipped, fell to the ground, and shattered. "My only regret is that he is no longer here."

Zur slowly sank to his knees, bowing his head to his hands. For a painfully awkward moment, Obi-Wan Kenobi froze. Never, in their many years of sharing various battlefields, missions, and temple hallways, had he ever seen the usually stone-faced Master display any emotion, much less openly weep.

So, the great warrior did the only thing he knew to do. He knelt next to his mourning comrade and wrapped an arm around him, sharing in his grief.

"I cannot _not _shed tears for him," Zur choked out, tears unapologetically falling to the cold, tile floor. "I could not remain detached from him—not when I had trained him for so many years. He became my _son_."

Obi-Wan remained silent, his heart crumbling at Zur's words.

"_There is no emotion, there is peace_," the Zabrak released a shuddering breath, clearly wrestling with the boiling emotions that threatened to overflow from his heart and through his mouth. "Even in the beginnings of this war, I have not been able to find peace, only pain. War is a cruel mistress: she gives false promises yet takes so much."

Kenobi closed his eyes against the guilt that threatened to rise in his throat and choke him. Though war had been inevitable—that much he had seen on Kamino—he could not help but feel that in some way, the blood of the many Jedi who had died on Geonosis had to fall on his and Anakin's hands. "I am truly, truly sorry…"

Slowly, Zur rose to his feet. He placed a steady hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "You did not start this war, Master Kenobi. But I believe that you and your apprentice can end it," he said cryptically, "I do not believe that my Padawan's sacrifice will be in vain. There will be balance and peace again, one day. Good night."

He shuffled slowly from the room, leaving Obi-Wan to his thoughts. The sun began to rise in the distance, casting a bright, but hazy glow on the cityscape below him. Obi-Wan was pulled from his reverie when his commlink chimed. Anakin was awake. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the confusion, heartache, and remorse.

Obi-Wan stood and stretched the last of the tension from his aching muscles. The floor had been unforgiving and he had not realized that he had been kneeling for so long. "Coming," he began down the hall toward where his apprentice was preparing to go into surgery.

The mourning and despair of the loss they had suffered had culminated into that one conversation with a fellow Master, which had lit a spark of determination in his heart. The war had begun.

Soon-to-be General Kenobi strode down the hallway with a renewed sense of purpose. Yes, the Jedi would fight to defend the peace of thousands. Yes, many Jedi could die. Yet it would not be in vain. It could not be in vain.


	2. The Healer

**In War**

**Pt 2**

_Casualties_.

The word hung in the air with the foul stench of blood and sweat. Clone troopers littered the ground and cots around him, some awaiting treatment while others their impending death.

Medics rushed around the field hospital on the planet Bakura as the sound of blasterfire, explosions, and AT-TE walkers in the distance faded to silence as the battle drew to a halt. Even as the jungle stilled, the medical personnel's battle truly began.

_ Terms of victory_. The phrase had left a bad taste in General Obi-Wan Kenobi's mouth after every tactical meeting with Admirals, Generals, and Republic officials. Or was that the blood that oozed from a wound deep in his mouth? The Jedi-soldier ignored his pain. He did not have time for such frivolous indulgences in minor injuries. There was a war to be won.

Dull blue eyes surveyed the carnage left behind from battle. _Victory…but at what cost? _Obi-Wan had yet to be able to define the terms of victory for each battle that the Republic fought as the war raged on, wreaking havoc in the galaxy system by system. On paper, they were wrestling systems away from Separatist rule, ensuring freedom. In reality, they were losing lives by the day.

Kenobi shook his head, immediately regretting the action as pain exploded through his temples. He blew a weary sigh and began to hobble away from the medical camp. He hated the thought of getting in the way when there were so many who were wounded so much worse than he. After all, many of them had been riddled with blaster bolts. He merely had been standing too close to a tank when it had been hit with a proton torpedo.

The Jedi Master's vision blurred, focused, then unfocused again as he swayed on his feet. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Kenobi attempted a deep breath, but was halted by a flash of white-hot pain in his chest.

_ Cracked ribs._ Obi-Wan took a moment, probing his injured body. _Scratch that. Two cracked, one broken. Minor concussion. _Was that why he was struggling to concentrate? No matter. _A missing tooth? _He groaned and put a hand to his mouth, which came back bloody. _ That_ added insult to injury. Perhaps he needed to sit down for just a moment…

A strong hand wedged itself under his left armpit, steadying the General on his feet. "Easy, Master." Obi-Wan blearily turned to regard the green arm attached to the supporting hand. His exhausted gaze sluggishly moved up the arm to focus—somewhat—on an unfamiliar Twi'lek male.

Bewildered at the stranger who had grabbed him, Obi-Wan indignantly looked him up and down, noting the medical badge sewn onto his dusty, armored vest. The gentle, reassuring gaze of the medic remained on the wounded Jedi Master, compassionate and almost sympathetic.

"I'm fine," the General's cultured Core accent slurred as he started to wrench his arm away from the Twi'lek. "Unhand me. Don't you have wounded to see to?"

The green skinned healer's eyes hardened. The sympathy and kindness melted away. A flash of frustration appeared, then a familiar, Jedi-like stoic stare. "I will _not_ have you further injuring yourself, General."

Something was different about this medic. Obi-Wan wracked his brain for a split second before the answer came to him a moment too late—

"Sleep." A powerful Force-laden compulsion entered the General's taxed brain.

_Oh. Jedi healer_. His thoughts scattered on the wind and he sank into a deep sleep.

* * *

><p>Jedi Knight Noki'ido walked quickly through the medical ward on the <em>Resolute. <em>The Twi'lek had been constantly traveling since the war began, following the cruisers and battle groups to the most wounded systems and dying worlds, seeking to heal and mend where he could.

He had taken an oath before the Jedi Council, to the Jedi Order and to the Republic, to serve and to restore wherever possible. Thus, the young Knight had followed many Jedi Generals into the harshest battles and to the front lines, saving lives. This had come at a high price to the healer. Dark shadows marred the skin under the healer's eyes and a slight trembling threatened to overtake his nimble fingers, but he pressed onward regardless of any kind of fatigue. He was weary.

The Jedi Healer halted at a trooper's bedside and took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

The cool currents took his breath away at first as he dipped his consciousness into the Living Force that flowed through him and every person around him. He allowed himself a brief flash of awe at the refreshing power, as he always did in this all-too-familiar routine, then dropped into the Force and began to channel healing energies into the wounded soldier.

The Force bled through his fingertips, giving energy to the weakened man, their minds entwining for the briefest moment. After several, long heartbeats, the healer withdrew his consciousness from the soldier's body and pulled himself regretfully from the Force. A chill swept through his body as his personal reservoir of strength was sapped.

The Twi'lek leaned heavily on the wall, giving himself time to gather his strength. He flexed tired, achy fingers, trying to warm them and return circulation to the stiffening appendages. He released a calming sigh as he allowed the Unifying Force to comfort him, warming the last of the ache from his body.

"Healer Noki'ido?" A hollow, mechanical voice pulled him from his daze.

"Yes?" The healer choked the impatience from his tone.

"General Skywalker will not leave General Kenobi's side. He is exhibiting signs of extreme fatigue and refuses any of my suggestions." MD- 722 hummed.

Noki'ido hesitated. Did the droid sound impatient or was it just his imagination? He shook his head, "Thank you. I will handle him from here."

The healer squared his broad shoulders and set his jaw. He forced an intimidating gling into his tired, green eyes. He reached over and picked up several small, sedative-laden pressure hypo. Armed and dangerous, Noki'ido strode toward the private room where the two Jedi Generals rested.

* * *

><p>The room whispered of past chaos. A flipped medical tray laid on the ground, instruments littering the room like fallen soldiers from a lost battle. The blinds had been halfway torn off the small observation window, dangling forlornly from three small hinges near the corner of the viewing port.<p>

Yet Noki'ido had triumphed. The Twi'lek healer gently tended to his patients as if the immense struggle had never happened. As he turned around to regard Anakin Skywalker's sleeping form, he repressed a very un-Jedi glimmer of pride at having taken down the legendary Hero Without Fear. In reality, the brief battle had not come without a price. The black eye the Healer sported spoke of how close he had come to losing. Victory had been achieved by a narrow margin when he managed to produce an extra hypo from his vest pocket.

The green skinned Jedi smiled at the memory, then returned to his work.

Noki'ido pressed gentle hands to Obi-Wan Kenobi's once mangled body. He peeled back bacta patches, cleaning scars and removing the sticky liquid from the human's skin. His commlink chimed and he pressed the small wrist-comm to answer a young, impatient voice, "How are they? Are Sky—Master Skywalker and Master Kenobi there?"Ahsoka Tano's barely restrained worry bled through the transmission.

"They will be fine, young one," Noki'ido halted for a moment, surprised at his usage of the reference to the Padawan. _Young one? I am not so much older than she is_. He smiled sheepishly to himself. "They are both currently sedated. General Kenobi is out of the bacta treatment. Your Master is quite stubborn. I had to have him sedated so that he would rest…"

* * *

><p><em>"Both …bacta…stubborn…sedated…tooth…"<em>

Obi-Wan's hearing began to return before his other senses. Disoriented, he struggled to gather his errant thoughts. Where was he? What had happened? He vaguely remembered the fiery ache of his body after the battle and a green hand—

General Kenobi's eyes shot open and he flinched against the harsh, fluorescent light of the medical room. "Ah, you're awake. How do you feel?" A disembodied voice answered his slight gasp.

The lights dimmed as the Twi'lek healer in the corner waved a hand, coming into Obi-Wan's peripheral vision.

The Jedi Master shifted, taking a moment to answer the question. He breathed deeply. He felt a faint twinge, but nothing too painful. He opened his eyes, slowly propping himself up on his elbows.

The Twi'lek reached over and with another slight wave of his hand, the medical bed tilted, sliding the Master into a sitting position. Obi-Wan nodded gratefully. "Much better," he breathed a sigh.

Satisfied that his patient was recovering, the Jedi Healer turned and began to tidy the room, gathering tossed and scattered medical supplies.

Obi-Wan turned to study the Twi'lek before him, who knelt in the midst of what looked to be the remnants of a minor skirmish.

Green skin was mottled by bruises and scars, telling an unspoken tale of trips to the front lines of war. His green skin, which once must have been a vibrant emerald hue, had a slightly dull, mossy tint to it. Kenobi squinted, reaching out with the Force to subtly probe the Healer's Force signature.

_Ah, that's it_. A slight, almost imperceptible tremor shook the Twi'lek's hands as he moved. The telltale signs of exhaustion shook the healer's body. To the untrained eye, he was an infallible medic. To another battle-weary, observant Jedi, it was clear that Noki'ido was expending much more energy in healing than he was able to take in on a daily basis.

"Yes, Master Kenobi…I _am_ tired," Noki'ido stood, answering the Master's unshielded, projected thoughts.

Obi-Wan was not shaken by the bluntness of the other Jedi's words. His gaze took in the healer, truly _seeing _him for the first time. "You are young to be a Knight…"

"Noki'ido, Master…and it is out of necessity that I was Knighted. I was given my trials before I felt ready. But as you know, there are so few of us in this galaxy that sometimes, tradition has to be pushed aside. There is a war. There are wounded. I could not delay any longer," the healer's voice grew soft, almost regretful. "I am capable. I do all that I can to preserve life."

General Kenobi's heart stirred at the quiet words of the young Knight standing before him. A sympathetic pang flared through him. Yes. He knew what it felt like to be thrust into the Trials of Knighthood before he felt fully prepared. He knew what it was to battle raging inadequacy and sleepless nights on the cusp of too much responsibility.

The Twi'lek turned to leave the room. "Thank you," Obi-Wan stated simply. The quiet thanks made the healer pause.

"For what, Master? I was simply doing my duty." Noki'ido replied quizzically, confusion knitting the green brow. He tilted his head to the side.

Obi-Wan smiled faintly. It was clear that the young healer went above and beyond mere _duty_. The bruises and scars showed that much. "Thank you for your dedication, young one. Without Jedi like you, this war would have long been over and we would have lost."

The Twi'lek nodded. "Master—"

He froze as the momentarily forgotten prone figure of General Skywalker stirred. Obi-Wan turned to notice his ex-Padawan lying on an exam table in restraints. His gaze shot to the healer, who was slowly backing away toward the exit.

"What's this?" Eyebrows raised with concern and amusement.

"I may have had to sedate Knight Skywalker," Noki'ido's eyes widened in horror as Anakin thrust himself into wakefulness. "He is fine. I must be going now." With a hasty bow, the healer sprinted from the room.

Obi-Wan turned to his dear friend, who was struggling valiantly against the restraints on his arms and chest as he struggled to clear his mind of the lingering effects of the drugs in his system. "That barve drugged me. He snuck up on me and drugged me. Just wait until I find him—"

"Now, now, Anakin. He was merely doing his job," Obi-Wan chided gently, reaching over to unclasp the medical bonds. "He's been doing it quite well, actually."

Anakin slung his feet over the side of the bed, wavering as his vision blurred. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind. The young hero stood and rushed from the room, intent on hunting down his quarry.

Obi-Wan leaned back and chuckled. Barely a moment later, Noki'ido slunk into the room, carrying a datareader as if nothing was amiss. "Your release, Master." He held it out, awaiting the elder Jedi's palm print.

The Jedi Master pressed his hand to the reader, signing it. As the young healer walked from the room, he glanced warily to the right, then to the left, every sense on high alert for the impending attack.

General Kenobi slowly pulled his legs over the side of the medical bed and reached over to the small box at his bedside that contained his personal belongings. As he pulled on his tunic and pants, the Jedi Master smiled.

_Yes, there were casualties. Yes, the cost often seemed as though it outweighed the gain._ However, with other Jedi fighting the darkness of war, even behind the scenes of the battles, then there was still _hope_. Obi-Wan pulled his boots on, feeling more confident than he had in months.

Anakin skidded into the room, looking triumphant. As he realized that his pursuit had been indeed in vain and that the healer had eluded him yet again, his smile dropped.

"Give up, Anakin. He is on our side, after all." Obi-Wan put a hand to the younger Jedi's shoulder.


	3. The Padawan

**In War**

**Pt 3**

Anakin Skywalker had once been a small, tow-headed boy who skipped, laughed, and played. However, the years and various circumstances had changed him.

Anakin reached out with the Force, crushing a battle droid with a quick clench of his mechanical fist, flinging it into its comrades—

For some reason, in the last ten to twelve years of his young life, people had seemed to be intimidated by him. He began to notice it around the time he turned thirteen years old—the whispers, the edgy stares, the wide breadth younglings would give him in the Jedi Temple's large corridors. At first, he had been somewhat baffled and a little hurt by the avoidance behaviors of his peers. However, as time wore on, he started to appreciate the distance, the _respect_ from both his peers and enemies alike.

Skywalker spun, decapitating the remaining guards with a few quick swoops of his lightsaber—

The nervousness and the fear from others meant that he had proved that he was no one to be trifled with.

The Jedi General paused. His target was close by. The Force shuddered with the thick cloud of fear and pain that hung just beyond _that _door. He stabbed his azure saber blade into the durasteel cell door, slicing through the metal as if it were a piece of flimsy—

Nevertheless, there were days when Skywalker did not enjoy this instinctive anxiousness that he seemed to instill in those around him. There were days when he longed for a more _comforting_ aura to give to those that he aided.

_Today is one of those days_. Anakin fought back a wry, ironic smile, his heart simultaneously sinking as he saw the small, huddle figure in the corner of the cell. Every muscle in the prisoner's body shook with barely suppressed terror.

Anakin rushed forward, "Padawan Ino?"

The learner flinched, cowering away from the outstretched hand. Large, drug-dilated grey eyes stared up at the General, mistrusting him.

"I'm here to help," Skywalker paused, confused for a moment. Intel had said there were _two _Jedi being held captive. He clearly only saw one. He infused his voice with serenity and patience. "We need to hurry. Where is your Master?"

Grief surged through the Force, darkening the cell with its fury. Anakin reinforced his mental shielding as the Padawan's defenses began to fray and crumble under the weight of pain and the drugs that forced her into submission. That answered his question well enough. The unspoken hung between the two Jedi: _dead_. At a closer inspection of the Unifying Force, Anakin could sense the truth behind her grief. The Force reeked of sweat, agony, and tears.

"I am here to help you," Anakin restated, advancing slowly. He opened his hands in a nonthreatening gesture.

"That's what _they _said b-before—" _Betrayal. Death. Electricity sizzling, bringing flashing, white-hot pain. Simmering anger. Revulsion as dignity was stripped away piece by piece. _Emotion quaked beneath the surface of the youth's exhausted mumbling as the Jedi apprentice struggled to release her feelings to the elusive Force.

Anakin's commlink beeped. Ahsoka's voice crackled through the air. "Master, the ship's ready. You need to _come now_!"

"Got it, Snips."

He turned to regard the drugged teenager in the corner. "I know this doesn't make sense to you now. You're confused. But you're coming with me. Can you stand?"

Violently shaking hands pushed against the wall. She took one step then promptly collapsed to the ground with a resounding, defeated thud.

_That complicates things._ Anakin shifted his saber to his right hand and bent down, pulling the apprentice over his shoulders in a rescue carry. He craned his neck around the opening that he had cut through the door. Sensing no danger, Anakin began the mad dash back to their shuttle.

"Please—my Master—No," weak thrashing and squirming nearly threw the General off balance as he skidded around the corner into the last long corridor that would lead to the hangar. Blasterfire burned a hole in a bulkhead where he had been standing moments before.

Anakin tensed, clamping his free hand tighter around the arm of the Padawan slung across his shoulders. There was no time for comfort.

_Danger, Jedi. Danger is coming_. The Force whispered fervently in his heart, speeding his movements into a Force enhanced sprint. They entered the hangar to face a maelstrom of red intersecting with blue, the ever-faithful clone troopers that accompanied him provided cover as he began to cross the last distance to relative safety.

Skywalker raced to the mouth of the ramp to meet Ahsoka who guarded the entrance to the shuttle, twin sabers blazing. He quickly passed off his burden to his Padawan, who hauled the other apprentice inside. "Go!" Anakin waved the troopers inward, signaling a quick retreat.

* * *

><p>Padawan Nurah Ino was in hell.<p>

At least that was how she felt. For days, she had been locked in a prison of her own making, the bars crafted by mind-drugs and helpless grief. When the blonde Jedi had appeared in her cell, her first reaction was intense, distinctly un-Jedi fear.

The last time someone had offered to aid in her escape, she and her Master had taken it, only to—

_No_. _No. No. _ She curled tightly in on herself, hugging her knees to her chest.

This time, she had not been given a choice as to whether to trust the stranger who came to her cell. His commanding, intimidating presence had barged into her drug induced haze and demanded that she come.

Ino swallowed the despair that had settled into a cold lump in the back of her throat. Years of training reprimanded her. _There is no emotion, there is peace. _She was dimly aware of the medical droid working on her, applying bacta to all her visible wounds, inserting an IV into her arm to flush the toxins from her system. The Force began to trickle back into her awareness as the drugs began to seep out of her blood.

Finally, with the assurance that the Force had not left her forever, she allowed her world to fade to blissful black.

* * *

><p>All was quiet in hyperspace. Most of the shuttle's crew had drifted off into sleep. Ahsoka was dozing, a datareader draped across her stomach.<p>

Anakin, however, could not find rest. He growled, slinging his legs over the edge of the bunk in a moment of frustration. How could he rest when Padwan Ino felt and thought so _loudly? _His irritation dissipated quickly as the chill of her unshielded emotions crept across the floor, causing an involuntary shudder to race up his spine.

He hesitated as his feet touched the floor. She was not _his _apprentice. He was not responsible for her, to some extent. But he was a compassionate man. Though countless battles had taken much of his innocence and joy, the war had not yet stolen his compassion. Anakin crept through the shuttle to the medical bay.

Ino tossed and turned, silver hair creating a disheveled, dirty halo around her young face. Tears tracked down her face. _Innocence lost. Darkness. Blood. _Anakin hesitated, not sure what to do. _Nightmares. _

The decision was made for him as the Padawan jerked to half-wakefulness, eyes wide and unseeing with terror. She frantically jerked at the patches that covered her torso, pulling at the IV, caught between waking and dreaming.

Anakin reached out, grasping her thin wrists in his hands. "Padawan Ino, wake up. You're safe. Stop—" She fought him harder. Anakin took a deep breath, wracking his brain for her first name… "Nurah. _Nurah_. Calm down."

At the sound of her name, the young woman stilled, eyes focusing on the large hands that gripped hers, then frantically darting up to see concerned blue eyes staring down at her.

Tears. Desperate, unrestrained tears distorted her vision as weeks of mistreatment and memories assailed her. She clutched at the Jedi Knight, weeping soft apologies, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm normally not like this. I just can't—"

Anakin froze at the sudden shift of events. The only woman he had ever held in his arms was Padme, and those experiences were typically filled with longing joy and desperate abandonment of all of the galaxy's problems. To hold a weeping stranger was something that Skywalker was unfamiliar with.

The Hero Without Fear froze. For a brief moment, he wished Obi-Wan were there. His mentor always seemed to know how to comfort even the most pathetic of lifeforms. Anakin banished the brief desire for rescue. He was a Jedi Knight. He could handle this. Though he knew little about comforting a distraught woman outside of his own wife, he knew what loss felt like. He knew gut-wrenching horror and pain.

So, the Jedi General allowed the quaking Padawan to hold onto him, an anchor in the midst of a hurricane of emotion. After several long minutes, her crying ceased. Unclouded grey eyes stared up at Anakin. A bright flush crept across the apprentice's cheeks.

A soft, choked laugh emerged in the form of a raspy sob. "I-I'm sorry. I don't even know your name. Usually I at least buy someone dinner before something like this happens."

Anakin sighed and winced at the failed, awkward humor. Yes, Obi-Wan would have been better suited for comforting this girl. "I'm Anakin Skywalker." He cleared his throat, feeling unsuitably uncomfortable. He ruthlessly squashed the awkwardness that threatened to steal his composure.

"Oh..._oh_." Recognition dawned on the younger Jedi and she quickly released Anakin's hands, scrambling away from him. "I-I'm so, so sorry, Knight Skywalker—"

Anakin waved her apology away. "No need to apologize. You've been drugged. You were having a nightmare. I understand."

Nervous silence ensued.

Anakin cleared his throat again, suddenly aware of his sweaty palms. _How did it get so blazing hot in this medical bay? _He shook his head minutely. He was a Jedi Knight, for Force sake. He was the Chosen One. He should know how to comfort a grieving child.

"I am sorry for your loss, Padawan," he managed.

Grey eyes became stony.

Anakin stopped. What else was there to say? _There is no death, there is the Force? _Those words rang hollow in his heart. He knew all too well what it was like to lose a mother. He could only imagine that losing a Master because of grisly torture could feel similarly.

Anger. There was so much anger swirling in those eyes. Anakin opened his mouth, but his words failed him again. _Yes, I know how you feel. After mom_ died... Anakin couldn't finish the thought. _Anger is normal for those who have been hurt? _That wouldn't work. That was against the Jedi Code. _There is no emotion, there is peace? _

"I'm sorry," Anakin settled on the only true statement that he could say without sounding like a heretic. He hung his head, feeling defeated. Perhaps he truly was as intimidating and awkward as all of his peers believed him to be. "I'll leave you to rest. Would you like a sedative?" Anakin stood, but was halted by desperate fingers clinging to his wrist.

"No—No more drugs. Please…just stay with me? Just until I fall asleep again?"

The Knight turned and resettled into his seat. "Of course." If that was the only comfort he was capable of giving, then that was what he would do.

The Jedi General sat with the frightened Padawan until her shuddering breathing evened out and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	4. The One Who Hated Him

**In War**

**Pt 4**

"_It shows you have a good heart. But, for one thing, we're Jedi. Not social workers. It's not our job to collect the galaxy's waifs and strays."_

"_Then it should be. What is the point of having all this power if we don't use it to make people's lives better?"_

"_But we do make people's lives better! You know we do! Right now the Jedi are dying to make people's lives better."_

_-Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker,_

General Kenobi had been privy to many _interesting _scents throughout his life as a Jedi. Somehow, being the Padawan learner of Qui-Gon Jinn meant acquiring a vast knowledge of the galaxy's worst stenches and most pathetic life forms. At the age of 15, he had been locked in a storage shed with twelve sopping wet Wookiees. By age 17, he had even once been caked in ceremonial gundark dung—

But none of that compared to the smell that hung in the air of the flying refugee camp that he had come to oversee. Most of the worst smells that floated through his memory had been easily washed off after a trip to the refresher unit. The odor that he was immersed in while aboard the aptly named _Refuge _was not a smell of which he could easily rid himself.

The air was drenched with the hopelessness of sentient beings from different worlds who had lost everything. And that stench was what kept Obi-Wan Kenobi awake at night.

The Force itself reeked of children's tears, widows' anguish, ghosts of the brave who had fought and lost, the blood of innocents. Muddy with stale, crimson blood and dark with despair.

_ This is the product of war. _Obi-Wan suppressed a shudder, maintaining the constant mask of Jedi calm that he had worn every day of the Force-forsaken conflict that engulfed the galaxy. Even as his heart and soul chipped away piece by piece with every battle that he fought, he always maintained the cool, stoic façade to the public. The Force wrapped the wounds of his heart in its soothing balm, drying the tears that he could never shed, smoothing away the scars into controlled strength and wisdom.

The Jedi General strode through the thick of the quaking mob, a beacon of light in a sea of desolation.

"How long until we reach Alderaan?"

An Ithorian navigator turned and droned an answer.

Obi-Wan nodded, accepting the time. Thirty-seven hours until they reached their destination. The Jedi Master did not allow impatience to sneak a foothold in his thoughts_. Yes,_ he had questioned the Council when they requested that he and a unit of troopers step away from the front lines. _Yes,_ he had originally felt that this mission was _beneath _his skill level at first, that he was better suited in battle, protecting those who could not protect themselves. However, as their voyage wore on, Kenobi began to appreciate the escort duty. This was a welcome respite from the constant rush of war. He suspected that the clone trooper unit that accompanied him to guard the refugees felt the same, though they would never voice a frivolous concern such as exhaustion. They were bred for battle, and war was their purpose in breathing.

"Yes. Thank you. And make sure you avoid Wild Space. It could lengthen our journey, but those lanes are not secure."

The navigator purred an affirmative response, then moved to reroute their travels. Kenobi wandered away from the bridge, his duties momentarily attended to. All the refugees were accounted for, safely aboard the _Refuge_. There was no danger on the horizon that he could sense.

_Perhaps it's time to meet my partner_, the General mused. When he first boarded the _Refuge_, he had been told that he was to be working in conjunction with a relief worker who was responsible for the organization of where the huddled masses came from and where they were to go. However, he had yet to meet this elusive worker. It seemed that he or she had been suspiciously absent from every area he occupied.

The Jedi Master mentally shrugged, dismissing the notion of seeking out someone for the sake of companionship. The Force was his ally. _And the Force knows how much I need some time in meditation_.

Obi-Wan walked the large ship until he finally came across a secluded corridor with a large viewport that overlooked the vast expanse of stars. He removed his armored outer vest and his boots, lowering himself soundlessly to his knees.

Inhale the Force, letting it pour in through his nostrils like a cool, refreshing breeze. Exhale weeks of stress out through his mouth, ridding his body and mind of the toxins of war. _There is no emotion, there is peace. _

Inhale the Living Force, boundless in its light and peace. Exhale the weight of battle, the burden of innocent lives lost and torn apart. _There is no death, there is the Force_.

The Jedi allowed a small smile to grace his lips, his heart soaring with the warmth that flooded his senses. He began to shift his muscles in the familiar patterns of moving meditation as he began a kata that he had known since he was a youngling. Behind his closed eyelids, the Force transformed the blackness to flare into vibrant colors life and light.

For a few brief moments, Obi-Wan Kenobi was truly, deeply content, even as the galaxy waged war and chaos around him.

* * *

><p>Booted feet strode purposefully through the maze of long corridors and packed halls on the <em>Refuge. <em>Each footfall made a muffled click, the boots worn soft and broken-in but defiant nevertheless.

Rhyn Lisboth had once admired the Jedi Order. At some points, it had bordered on hero-worship. Years before the war had stolen her innocence and her desire for justice had robbed her of her awe at the galaxy; she had been a little girl on Corellia. She met a Jedi while on Treasure Ship Row…and he had saved her life. His silver blade had intersected the blow that death's cold hands nearly dealt. His emerald eyes gleamed with peace. He was a true keeper of justice, a knight who fought for the common people.

But the war that tore apart the galaxy had slowly but surely eroded her respect for the "guardians of peace." She had heard too many stories of the Jedi leading armies into battle to truly believe that they stood for the peace that they once had clung to. She had seen the devastation of the worlds left in the wake of their war.

Besides, she was _angry_ at the particular Jedi that had invaded _her _ship. She had managed to avoid him for much of the voyage, citing her own failure to remain impartial and nonjudgmental of the warrior. As a relief worker and an advocate for fair treatment of all lifeforms, it would have been a shame to take out any frustration that she had at the entire Order on just one man. It would have seemed hypocritical.

However, her firm resolve to ignore his presence had broken when she had come across a platoon of clone troopers practicing their combat moves on each other. Given, they had been in one of their own "training" rooms, but she had no tolerance for violence on _her_ ship, even if it was of the "play" kind. The more rational part of Lisboth's mind acknowledged that it was a minor transgression, if it were wrong at all. However, weeks of little sleep and round-the-clock work had worn her patience thin and she needed a punching bag on which to take out her aggression.

That unfortunate punching bag was to be General Obi-Wan Kenobi.

_If _she could find him. Her irritation mounting, she started on her third lap of the ship in search of the elusive Jedi Master.

* * *

><p>A storm was approaching. On the periphery of his meditation, he could sense an angry, crackling presence stalking toward him. He continued his kata. The Force whispered of a coming confrontation, a minor skirmish in the midst of a multitude of battles. There was no <em>real<em> danger coming; there was no threat to his wellbeing. Therefore Obi-Wan allowed the warning to trickle off his senses, rolling across his mind and dissipating in the peace the Force provided.

He vaguely heard footsteps approaching, encroaching on his solitude. The Force flowed through him, never ceasing, bringing hyper awareness. He could sense the intruder's height, weight, thoughts and feelings.

_Roiling frustration, tainted with self-righteous heat. Bone-weary exhaustion, patience worn thin and stretched taut. Irritation flared as she approached, seeing his calm—_

She cleared her throat loudly, attempting to break his concentration. Obi-Wan slowed his movements and came to a gentle halt, opening his eyes to focus on the short human woman who stood, arms crossed and feet spread wide in a commanding stance.

If her brow had not been knit in an exasperated scowl, her very presence oozing distaste for him, Obi-Wan could have thought her attractive. Dark circles and crows feet crinkled the skin at the edge of her brown eyes, which were shadowed with emotion.

_Ah_. Recognition dawned on the General as he began to gather bits and pieces of information through the Force. _This must be the aid worker_.

"General Kenobi." It was not a question. "I have an issue with your troopers." Disdain dripped from every word.

Obi-Wan was not ruffled by the lack of introduction. "I trust they have kept to themselves unless asked to help. They follow orders flawlessly." He picked up his boots and slid his calves into the tough leather.

"They have been causing a—a ruckus. I will _not _stand for violence of any kind on this ship. These people have seen enough—" She sputtered angrily, then paused, clearly struggling to regain her dignity.

Kenobi watched as the auburn haired woman took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm her racing heart and slow her mind, which was moving quickly beyond her ability to articulate angry words. A small, amused smile curled the corners of his lips.

She restarted again, more slowly. "What I mean to say is, there is enough war outside of this ship. Please do not bring it with you here: into their lives _again_."

The Jedi Master regarded her quizzically, her last statement betraying that she clearly had an issue with much more than the activities of the clone troopers.

"I am sorry if their behavior has disturbed you. I will speak with them later," the Negotiator stepped in, unflappable despite the subtle accusation. "I don't believe we have met. You seem to know who I am, but I do not know who you are."

Her fury seemed to spike as the slight jab drew no response. "Rhyn Lisboth, Governmental Aid."

"Very well, Ms. Lisboth, I am sorry if there has been any distress caused to the passengers of this vessel. If there has been, we will make proper amends."

_Damn_. The only person offended by the actions had been Rhyn. Her ire was not quelled. Hot fire surged in her veins, fueling a need to fight _someone—anyone_. If she could not stop the injustice and violence of the galaxy, she had to vent against something or else she was sure she would explode. Again, the rational part of her mind pleaded with her to stop, to seek the refuge of sleep, but she desired to press on.

Her brief silence spoke volumes.

"It seems as though you have a problem with more than my troopers' actions and more of an issue with _me_," Obi-Wan ventured calmly. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

"No." Cold fire stared back at him. _Yes_, _but not with you. It's inappropriate. I'm angry. And now is not a great time_. Reason won the fight momentarily as Lisboth stilled her tongue.

"Very well, Ms. Lisboth. I will speak with my men on your behalf that they should keep rough-housing and training to a minimum. Anything else?"

He was so calm. No emotion, only peace. He was a statue made of flesh and blood, a war machine hidden under a gentility and culture. She despised him for it. He began to slowly walk away, his armor slung over his shoulder.

"No. Thank you. And please, be sure not to bring any further violence. You've done enough of that as it is." Her words struck, quick and sure, filled with venom, biting his heel as he left.

Kenobi's shoulders tensed for a brief, glorious moment. Her missile had finally hit its mark. But he gave her no cruel satisfaction. The Jedi Master simply walked down the long hallway to meet with his men, leaving Rhyn alone to her thoughts and frustrations.

* * *

><p>Lisboth's office aboard the <em>Refuge <em>was teeming with sentient beings of every species on the ship. She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hands, groaning quietly as another weeping family left with their reassignment. Another sleepless night. Dozens more stories of the tragedies of war. The Corellian glanced down at her roster. Only thirty more families were on her schedule for the morning. A long shadow darkened her doorway.

"If you need help, my men are more than capable of filtering appointments and handing out assignments." The familiar Core accent pulled her eyes up to see General Kenobi standing in front of her desk.

Pride rose in her throat, hideous, seeking unnecessary solitude. Insomnia choked the voice of reason into barely a whisper in the back of her mind. "I don't need your kind of help," she muttered halfheartedly.

"Ms. Lisboth, there is no reason to be uncivil. I care about these people, too—"

That was too much for her overtaxed brain and strained emotions to comprehend. _Jedi? Care? _Rhyn stood, bloodshot eyes confused, blazing with untamed frustration. "I've heard your code. _There is no emotion. _I've seen your victims. You say that you're there to help, but _this_—" she waved her arm toward the waiting room full of refugees. "is what you cause. You're hypocrites. All of you. You're not guardians of peace. You're warmongers—"

The aid worker stopped, shocked at her own outburst. Her face flushed with embarrassment. She fell silent, hands clenching and unclenching as she struggled to process everything that she had just said to the General. The deep, festering, bitter wound in her heart apparently needed cleansing. It was unfortunate that such cleansing happened in the form of abusing Obi-Wan Kenobi. She was suddenly too tired to argue, her words deflating her once boisterous resolve and strength.

Obi-Wan stood, taking the onslaught like a true Jedi. The words cut deep into his already wounded soul, but he sifted through them, gathering bits of perceptions and filtering out untruths. "I see." He paused, looking down at her schedule. He turned and closed the door to her office. "Let's take a moment, Ms. Lisboth."

The door slid shut with a resounding hiss, closing her off from the outside world and locking her into her office with the Jedi Master. For a moment, Rhyn felt trapped. However, after her most recent outburst, it was clear that she was not at her peak professionally. A conversation needed to be had before another, more public spectacle was made. Her lack of restraint was inexcusable.

The Negotiator quickly assessed the situation. The woman who stood before him clearly thought him to be inhuman, incapable of compassion, incapable of anything besides war. Obi-Wan, of all people, knew the overabundance of emotion that plagued his own heart from time to time. He knew his own humanity even when he did not show it to others. He sagged under the weight of the realization—_Do I truly seem so callous? _He shifted, coughed, and began to speak, aching vulnerability bubbling to the surface. If she could not believe by his words and actions that he was truly human, perhaps she could see see and hear it in his tone.

"Ms. Lisboth, I am truly sorry for whatever reason you have to hate the Jedi Order," Obi-Wan began slowly, his voice quiet, filled with regret. "I am also sorry that you see us as battle hungry monsters." He looked down at the floor. "But I can assure you: I'm no droid. I am a person, just like you are. I'm not your enemy. I want peace for this galaxy, these people, as much as you do." Hurt and weariness bled into his soothing voice. Kenobi sighed heavily.

The grey eyes that turned upward to meet Rhyn's pinned her heart to her spine, catching her breath in her throat. Gone was the battle-hardened soldier. The eyes staring back at her were of a tired man who lived and bled for others just as she did.

"Yes, I am a Jedi. So yes, the Jedi Code says that we give our emotion to the Force, but that does not mean that I do not _feel_." Obi-Wan shook his head, begging the woman to truly _hear _him. "So let me help you. I am _not _your enemy." There. He had said it— with a raw honesty that usually made his skin crawl. He had met her anger with peace. He had combated her severe frustration by displaying uncharacteristic emotion. Even if it was barely a crack in his normal Jedi reserve, it had to get through the callous woman's shell. _Now what, Ms. Lisboth? _If that hadn't disarmed her hatred, he did not know what would.

For a painfully awkward moment, Rhyn Lisboth stared at the Jedi Master, confused and taken aback. She cleared her throat, standing corrected. A wave of exhaustion made her limbs heavy and her words sluggish. "I don't hate you, General. I am sorry for my earlier outbursts. It was unprofessional and—"

"No need to apologize."

Her brows rose in surprise. _False. _

"An appropriate apology is allowing my men and I to do our jobs, which is to protect and help this ship and every creature on it." The Negotiator was back, cool stoicism replacing the momentary flux of emotion, smoothing over the hurts with the cool salve of the Force. "You have a brief break. Let me take over handing out assignments for a while. Go shower, rest, eat. Your work will be here when you get back."

Lisboth nodded warily. After all she had said to the Jedi, _that _was how he responded? By giving her a break? By offering vulnerability and kindness? _Jedi…_ She shook her head. It made no sense.

Kenobi slowly steered the weary worker to the door. "Go rest. I promise everything is under control. If we have need, we will contact you immediately."

Completely disarmed and suddenly _very _aware of how tired she was, Rhyn nodded and allowed herself to be maneuvered out the door. She hesitated, staring out at the waiting room full of refugees—

"They will be fine. I promise." The calm, reassuring words held so much weight.

"Fine," she sighed. "I will be back soon."

With that, Obi-Wan watched as the woman staggered slowly through the waiting room off to her quarters. He shook his head, staring down at the mountain of datacards and datareaders on the desk.

He had work to do.


	5. The Kata and the Mirror

**In War**

**Pt. 5**

"_A Jedi is a Jedi, first, foremost, and only. For a Jedi to divide his attention between the will of the Force and the will of others is to invite disaster."  
>-Jedi Master Hoche Trit<em>

Clandestine meetings were not something with which Anakin Skywalker was a stranger. Coruscant, Naboo, it made no difference. If _she_ was on the same planet as he, he would find a way to be with her. She was a part of him, her very scent in his flesh and bones. She was fully his and he was fully hers, unreservedly.

_Love_.

Being with _her _was as intoxicating as Corellian whiskey and as awe-inspiring as the first time he truly felt the Force. The emotion was all consuming, fiery and raw—It was distracting and dangerous. It branded his soul. It was attachment. It was _forbidden._ It was their secret and their refuge when the galaxy's problems seemed too much.

As far as Anakin knew, he was also the only Jedi Knight in the Order who felt the way that he did. No other Jedi had come forth and declared their undying love for another being. Yes, he had heard rumors of a Jedi here and there who had married in secret or because of special circumstances, but he rarely heard about passion and romance. Those were myths that were crushed under the heel of discipline and centuries of tradition before a Jedi became a Padawan learner.

At least that was the impression that Anakin had been under for as long as he had been a Jedi.

But the war had begun to change the Jedi Order. Slowly but surely, under the refining fire of combat, as more and more comrades fell around them, cracks began to show in the once smooth Jedi resolve: tiny, bleeding shatterpoints that could result in the strengthening of the Order or the slow decay of the institution. A glaring weakness had been revealed to the Jedi: attachments had inadvertently formed. The once soothing mantra of "_There is no death, there is the Force" _became cold comfort as seasoned Masters and younglings alike mourned the dead and dying.

Even the seemingly infallible Jedi Master Mace Windu had admitted to the attachment of the love for a father to a daughter after Depa Billaba had fallen into darkness. The anguish that only his closest friends could see in his eyes after their battle at Haruun Kal clearly displayed the dangers of attachment.

But those dangers did not keep many Jedi from secretly succumbing to their passion out of a desire for comfort.

Skywalker looked down at the chrono. Padme would be arriving on Coruscant within the hour. He had some time to kill. Perhaps a training room on the Temple's dojo level was open. He toyed with the idea of calling on his former mentor to spar, but quickly dismissed the thought. If their match ran long, that would only take time away from Padme. And with Ahsoka resting after weeks in the field, the only timely option that presented itself was to simply wander into the dojo and wreak havoc on whatever unlucky opponent he deemed worthy or scores of dart remotes.

The Jedi General surveyed the practice floors for an opponent. He snorted with a brief flare of sarcasm. _No one_. He shrugged slightly to himself, picking up a crate of remotes and striding toward a little-used training salle for some privacy—

He paused, quieting his steps as a giggle reached his ears, followed by a quick "_shh." _Skywalker began to turn around. Eavesdropping was _so _uncivilized. But the low voices drew him in, simply begging for him to listen.

"We just _can't_, Zave," a woman's voice spoke in hushed, desperate tones. "Once this war is over, after we've fulfilled our mission—"

"We might not have that time." A man's voice cut in, rough with desire, exhausted with longing. "Allyah…I-I love you."

To say that Anakin felt uncomfortable would have been akin to saying that Wookiees have hair. Despite his discomfort, he could not pry himself away from the scene playing before his ears.

He was not alone. Other Jedi were beginning to understand the battle that raged within him—the fire that he had yielded to only a year before. He peered around the corner to witness a reckless embrace, the kiss of two lovers lost in the moment.

Anakin jerked back into the hallway. He still had his dignity. He could not be caught lurking in the shadows. The Hero Without Fear soundlessly backed away.

* * *

><p>Zave Vorun spun, his saber blade a blur of sapphire fire. He parried and leapt over his opponent's strike, narrowly missing her double-bladed fury. He allowed a feral grin to rise to his face as he shoved her backward with a particularly savage blow, flinging the smaller Jedi halfway across the auditorium.<p>

She recovered quickly, landing in a crouch. The Force coiled around her, a serpent waiting to strike. Her eyes darkened with concentration. Though saberplay was not her strong point, she was no one to be trifled with. A powerful Force-shove sent Vorun tumbling.

His opponent walked languidly over to him, a predator stalking prey. Momentarily stunned, Zave looked up to see _her_.

_That's my girl_. Vorun mused briefly as her yellow lightsaber swung close—too close—to his head. He rolled to the side, the air stinking of ozone.

"Allyah, I would think after last night, you'd be a little _nicer_ in the dojo—" He smiled, allowing the innuendo to sink in.

Her attack intensified. "Why should I have any mercy? I thought that I'd tired you out, but clearly—" Slash. Parry. "You have more energy to expend today—" A quick flip out of arm's reach. "than I thought you would." A blocked backhanded slap. "I guess next time we'll—"

Vorun quickly brushed sweat out of his blue eyes. He clicked his tongue in mock disapproval as the mental images she projected splashed across his mind's eye. "With that talk, my lady, you leave nothing to the imagination. This temple has ears, you know," he murmured, their blades clashing, their faces close.

She gasped as if she had forgotten where they were. That moment of hesitation was all he needed. Zave kicked her feet out from under her, sending the smaller Knight tumbling to the floor. He leveled his blade, hovering centimeters over her throat.

"Game."

* * *

><p>Anakin watched as the two Jedi that he had stumbled across the night before tore each other to pieces in combat. One would push, the other pull—it was a dance of sabers and wit, the Force binding them in a whirlwind of footwork and technique.<p>

"What are you smiling at, Skyguy?" Ahsoka's high pitched voice cut into his thoughts.

"Nothing, Snips. Just enjoying the show." The match below drew to a screeching halt, the loser lying breathless on her back, staring up at a blue blade. "Say…don't you have some lessons to catch up on? You were pretty far behind last time I checked." Anakin injected the most "masterly" tone he could muster into his voice.

"Master—" His Padawan's pitch bordered a whine.

"Ahsoka. Jedi do not complain," the Knight warned, eyes still glued to dueling pair.

The Togruta grew silent, subdued. "Yes, Master." As his Padawan left to deal with the mountain of work she had undoubtedly neglected since their return to the Temple, Anakin continued to study _them. _

To the unsuspecting viewer, the two Jedi who had just finished dueling were old friends. But Anakin knew them to be much more. A lingering touch on the arm, checking for a burn. A longing caress along the back of the neck, hands poised, dying for the contact to last longer.

It was written in every move they made—they belonged to one another. They were _so _like him and Padme. The Force pulsed between them, melding two heartbeats into one signature in the vast expanse of light and life. How no one else noticed the tension between those two was beyond Anakin's comprehension.

Skywalker stood and watched as the female Jedi fled the scene. He stretched his aching muscles, rolling his shoulders back in an attempt to loosen the bands of tension that knotted his back. The male Jedi on the dojo floor rolled his neck in a similar fashion. Anakin smirked. Yes. He knew that feeling: as if the very air around him froze when _she _walked too nearby.

Seeing them interact made him ache to be with _her_. Unwilling to deprive himself of Padme's company any longer, Anakin strode from the Jedi Temple for some much needed R&R.

* * *

><p><em>Forever.<em> How comforting it was to know that sleeping woman at his side was to be his for eternity, or at least certainly until death parted them. And potentially even beyond that, should the Force allow it in its infinitesimal reach. Even if the galaxy fell into darkness and the Jedi Order itself broke into pieces, still _she_ would remain. She was beautiful—agonizingly so—she was warmth and light. She was _everything_. It was a shame that other Jedi would never know such joy—

"Padme?"

She rolled over to answer his soft call, dark eyes still closed from slumber. "Hmm?" She ran her fingers sleepily through his hair, his head leaning to rest against her chest. Bedsheets pooled around them, helter-skelter as they listened to one of Coruscant's rare rainstorms fall outside of their apartment window.

"There are more Jedi like me."

"Hmm?" She struggled toward wakefulness.

"There are more Jedi who have fallen in love."

Her eyes popped open in mild surprise. "How do you know?"

"I'm not sure how it happened, but I somehow managed to overhear a part of a conversation…and then just to see them interact—" He stopped himself with a sigh. "What should I do?"

Padme smiled down at her husband. "Do?"

"I feel as though I should talk to them," Anakin murmured hesitantly. "Maybe I could help. I just feel so conflicted."

"I don't think there is anything you _can_ do, love. It's their secret, much like we are each others'." She reached down, tilting his chin upward. Blue eyes locked on dark brown, nearly drowning in the wisdom and passion that dwelled in those depths. "I know that you hate inaction, but perhaps keeping their secret is all you can do."

He exhaled roughly, circling her in his arms. Force, he loved this woman. "You're right, as usual."

* * *

><p><em>On. Off. On. Off. <em>Years of the same agonizing pattern should have hardened the two Jedi's hearts to the conversation that they had to have. Since their apprenticeships they had battled their emotions for one another, playing with fire, getting burned every time. Their scorched hearts somehow forgot the sting of the loss each time. Still, they returned to one another like moths to a flame.

The last time they had _the_ conversation,_ he _had initiated it. He had bore his soul to his Master years before as a Padawan, confessing his transgression against the Order's ideals. He had killed their passion for the sake of their calling, for the sake of the Force.

Years later, it was _her_ who held the figurative knife to his throat, laying their hearts across the altar of duty that they had approached many times before.

Tears. Barely restrained tears hung in the corners of her dark eyes. He hated—no, not hate, Jedi do not hate— _disliked very intensely_ that he was the cause of those tears. She released a shuddering breath. The Force shivered with grief. "It is a fairytale, Zave. You know it."

"Allyah—" Words failed him. He crushed her to his chest, desperate to stop the nonsense coming from her lips. "We are a team. In the field and in spirit."

"There can't be a _we_. Not if we are to succeed in this war. For the Force's sake, we're being wiped from the Jedi records for this next mission. There won't be a _me. _There won't be a _you._ There can't be an 'us.' We are Jedi—"

"First, foremost, and only. Duty first: the mission." Vorun snapped. Words spilled from his lips, a waterfall of brutal honesty, crashing against a weary, aching heart. "I know. To the _Sith hells_ with all of our old sayings, _I know_ that we are Jedi! I _know _of our duty. I _know _the weight of the mission that Yoda has given us. I _know _that attachment makes us vulnerable. I _know _that we can't afford to be left wide open. I _know_. But that doesn't stop that you are a part of me. Mind, body, and soul, you are inside me, Allyah." He sank to his knees, dizzy from his tirade, drunk with heartache.

Silence. _Spat. Spat spat. Spat. _Tears finally found their release and fell to the stone floor. A soft, choked sob escaped her throat.

He forced himself to speak again, his voice as ragged and frayed as his nerves. "I know that this is wrong. I know that we're walking into a mission in which we cannot afford to have any attachment to anything—even the Order, but I just…I _can't _lose you." His voice broke as his resolve began to crumble. Yes, he was only a man, but he was also a Jedi—first, foremost…and only. "But I guess I have to."

"I will always love you." Her soft admission was drenched in heartbreak, sopping with regret. She was breaking; that much he could easily tell. She did not want her words to be true any more than he did. Zave sighed heavily. He would be strong for her, even if he could not be strong for himself.

"But we are Jedi. Jedi shall not know love," His face twisted in a wry, pained smile. Vorun looked at the tear-streaked face of the woman he loved. His heart shattered as he looked into the eyes that were begging him to continue to argue her point, begging him to lead them into rebellion despite her firm words. He reached a gentle hand up to brush her cheek. Duty. Their duty had to come first. "You are right, as always."

Tears fell, mourning the loss of love and a bright future. The Force itself wept with the two lovers as the rain continued to pour outside the Jedi Temple.

* * *

><p>Anakin wandered dejectedly through the long, empty corridors of the Jedi Temple. The Temple slept, young initiates were tucked away on their sleep mats. <em>She<em> was gone—again. Senator Amidala's duties had called, leaving her husband behind on Coruscant to wait until his next mission at war was assigned. He would not have to wait for long. There was always a battle to be fought.

He made his way toward the dojo level yet again, wishing he could burn off all the excess energy that shook his muscles. The normally crowded training rooms were devoid of life, save for one tired Knight that pressed on. His movements were rhythmic, but choppy and distracted. The Force hummed around him, hovering, but not entering his wounded spirit.

Something was clearly not right.

A tendril of regret drifted through the Force, drawing Anakin closer to the training salle. The air was dense with sadness, thick with mourning. He could have cut the heartache with his saber blade.

The Knight froze as he realized that he had an audience. "Yes?" He bowed, blue eyes were dull with pain, barely registering the newcomer.

Skywalker hesitated. He did not need to get involved in this Knight's life. He had already seen too much—far too much—and he did not even know the man's name. The hooded agony in the man's eyes tugged at Anakin's heart. "May I join you?"

"Yes, of course," the other Knight bowed in introduction. "Zave Vorun."

"Anakin Skywalker," the General returned the bow. He tossed his outer cloak to the side, rolling his shoulders and stretching in preparation. He slipped his boots off, flexing his bare toes against the cool stone of the dojo floor.

"You are a General," Vorun stated as the two circled one another, twin blue blades igniting between them. "Your reputation precedes you."

"That is true. I do not know much about you, my friend, but I know enough," Anakin struck first. "Let's do the _Katarn _kata."

"Seeing as you started it, I will assume that means you are the _predator_," pained eyes gleamed with recognition as the other Knight parried the blow and fell into a defensive stance. "And I am the _prey_."

"Only in title, Knight Vorun," Anakin swept behind the other Knight, who blocked a blow behind his back, twisting to face Skywalker.

The ancient dance began, muscle memory and the Force guiding the two Jedi. Anakin swung a low blow meant to take Vorun out at his ankles, which he answered by barely managing to leap out of harm's way into the shadows of the training salle.

"You are distracted," Skywalker observed quietly.

"You cannot be certain of that," Zave pointed out, shifting to block another blow, which had been aimed at his right shoulder. "You don't know if I'm distracted or just a poor swordsman."

Anakin leapt over his opponent's head, slashing downward at his neck. Another barely blocked blow. "I have seen enough over the past several days to know that is not the case."

Vorun tensed. The Force warmed around him, irritation heightening his senses. His voice remained neutral. "And what do you think you have seen?"

"Enough," Anakin answered shortly, his saber spinning in a series of movements that were almost too fast for the eye to follow. He pressed his attack in saber and in words, seeking to draw blood, seeking to draw a reaction. The infected wound in the younger Knight's heart needed cleansing—a trial by fire. "Enough to know what heartbreak looks like. Enough to know that you're hiding something. Enough to know that your mind is not fully on this exercise."

"I don't think you have any idea what you are talking about," Zave answered cooly, springing into the offensive. The tides turned. Anakin shifted his footwork, allowing his _predator _stance to become the _prey's_ defensive movements. "There is no heartbreak. There is the Force." Vorun mocked the Code, his voice monotonous, yet tinged with bitterness.

Finally. Dull blue eyes blazed with fire. Anakin had succeeded. Pain blazed into glorious, combative energy as the other Knight dove into the currents of the Force. Their blades were a dizzying array of sapphire light as the kata sped into heated perfection. Sweat stung their eyes, the kata restarting as the roles changed.

Anakin allowed the other Knight to press him backward in his attack, the therapeutic glow of their sabers illuminating the darkened chamber. _Oh, but I do know_. Anakin knew full well the agony the other Knight had to be feeling. He felt it in his darkest dreams and he prayed that he would never have to face that kind of loss.

Anger warped the Force between them. Skywalker again took the offensive, seeking to end the exercise before the darkness grew. The match had to end—and end quickly. He penetrated Vorun's outer defenses, jabbing his blade inward and flicking it to the side, skimming his opponent's wrist and knocking his lightsaber from his hand.

"Game." Anakin held his blue blade hovering above the other Knight's chest.

Anger dissipated into the coolness of the night, seeping into the stone floors never to be acknowledged again. Zave bowed, accepting defeat. "Thank you, Knight Skywalker."

"It was an honor, Knight Vorun." The General watched as the younger Knight retrieved his fallen saber and retreated from the dojo.

Anakin heaved a sigh. The conversation—or non-conversation—ended as abruptly as the kata had. _Swift, painful, and heated._

The air surrounding him colored with pity. The passionate team he had seen had clearly not survived under the heavy mantel of duty and the Jedi Order. He strode from the training room, feeling a defeat that was not entirely his own.

_**A Jedi shall know not anger. Nor hatred. Nor love.**_


	6. The Youngling

**In War**

**Pt 6**

"_Teaching is a privilege. It's a part of a Jedi's responsibility to help train the next generation."_

_- Obi-Wan Kenobi_

From infancy, Jedi were taught to never fear the darkness. They were taught to battle the evil outside of themselves and the potential for wickedness that at times could war for their very souls. Even younglings in the creche, who at times faced nightmares like all children, were taught to stare into even the blackest night without fear.

_Pain. That was all he knew. White-hot searing pain. Old scars, cut with jagged, rusty blades had been covered up, masked by new jabs and long gashes. __**She **__reveled in his anguish, laughing at his tears, leering joyfully at his suffering. _

That did not mean that nightmares and terrors of the shadows did not plague Jedi from time to time. Even seasoned Knights and Masters had to face the remnants of the waking world's malevolence when they slept. However, the fact that it was not uncommon did not make it any easier to deal with.

_**She **__had somehow, with her Force-forsaken Sith mask, had gotten inside his head, under his skin, into his soul. The darkness was inescapable. It seemed that he could not remember a time when had not felt the gnawing, aching agony that ripped through his abused body with every breath. The muscle maggots chewed at his tissues, threatening to swallow him from the inside out—_

Obi-Wan Kenobi jerked upright in bed, gasping. He raced to the refresher unit, nausea setting his senses on fire. The General clung to the porcelain bowl, emptying the contents of his stomach. Trembling hands came up to rub his aching chest, the scars that decorated his body flaring with phantom pain.

It was over. It had been well over a year. He was at the Jedi Temple—he was home. He was safe. The Temple was safe. Obi-Wan leaned back against the wall, pulling his knees to his chest. He took a few deep, steadying breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth. His heartbeat still hammered in his ears, instinctive, animal fear pulsing through his veins.

He clenched his teeth against a wave of nausea that threatened to rise up within him again. Nausea and nightmares had become a nightly ritual after Zigoola. The spirits of the Sith had tormented him in waking and sleeping on that desolate planet. Apparently, fragments of Zigoola _still _clung to him, shards of darkness embedded in his heart and soul.

It seemed that no matter how much he meditated, no matter how many times he released his memories into the Force, the ghosts that Zigoola resurrected continuously came back to haunt him. But he'd be damned if he didn't try to combat them with every ounce of light left in him.

Kenobi pressed steadying hands against the wall and levered himself to his feet. He stood and half-staggered over to the sink, rubbing the warm water over his face as if he could scrub the memories out of his brain. He drug tired eyes up to the mirror.

Who was that worn, haggard man staring back at him in the glass? The Jedi Master winced as he saw the beginnings of shadowy sleepless nights gathering under his eyes. Perhaps Anakin was right. It was quite possible that he did, indeed, need some time to rest and recuperate. It was true. Zigoola had irrevocably changed him in ways that he did not like to admit.

On Zigoola, the Dark Side had stripped away every defense he ever had and left him bare, raw, wide open to the most traumatic hurts from throughout his entire life. At some points, he was certain he was going mad—

The General closed his eyes tightly and shook his head, trying in vain to rid himself of the chill and recollections that seemed to cleave to him, unseen thorns in his flesh. He gargled and spat in the sink for good measure, trying to wash the leftover nausea from his mouth.

He set his jaw, determined. He _would _sleep. He was a Jedi Master, not a frightened child. The Force was his ally. And no nightmare was going to keep him from resting. Kenobi laid back down on his sleep mat and closed his eyes, forcing his thoughts to a screeching halt and into the blackness of sleep.

_ Red. There was so much. Red. Why did every time he closed his eyes did he see red? Red blood pulsing through red veins. Red mist. The red and black tattooed skull of the murderer who bore the twin red blades that took his Master's life in one red swoop. _

_ The red energy fields hummed, a scarlet barrier pulsing, mocking him with his inability to join the battle. Red and green screeched with vicious contact, the Dark and the Light clashing in colossal power. And then—_

_ The Red won. Darkness triumphed. _

_ Shock. Devastating, heart-stopping shock. Pain flared through their bond to be shut down by a mortal wound as life's crimson blood began to trickle to a stop. His own blood boiled with near-blinding fury. Anger hazed his vision and for one terrifying moment, all he saw was red that blinded his blue eyes with the dark. "NO!" _

The cry died on the Jedi Master's lips as he shot to wakefulness for the second time that night. He pressed weary hands to eyes that burned with their lack of sleep. For a brief, hopeless moment, Kenobi stared through the inky blackness of night up at the ceiling. Frustration welled up within his chest, but he struck quickly, crushing the slippery emotion under the heel of years of training and discipline. No. He was a Jedi. Even in seemingly endless seasons of insomnia, he was still a Jedi.

The General closed his eyes yet again and forced himself back into the currents of the Force in an attempt to sleep.

_The air was alive. Tiny, rapidly beating wings set the air ablaze with movement. The Force itself hummed a warning. Flee, Jedi. Danger. Carnal danger, animal instinct, pressed against the young Padawan from all sides. The swarm engulfed him so quickly that he barely had a chance to breathe, much less flee. _

_ Piranha beetles. _

_ Terror threatened to freeze the apprentice, but years of training forced him into action. Do or do not—there is no try. Mere trying meant death. One bite. Two bites. Where was Qui-Gon? Where was his Master? Three—four—five—he lost count. The beetles were seeking to eat him alive. His legs pumped furiously as he struggled to run away from what sounded—and felt—like the worst death imaginable. _

_ Burning, biting, gnashing, scarring his flesh with poisonous rage. There were too many. They were everywhere. Inside his clothes, ripping at the cloth of his tunics and into his flesh. Teeming, flocking, buzzing. He was going to die, mere fodder for the tiny hellbeasts—_

Blue eyes jerked open. Blast. Awake again—_very _awake. He closed his eyes tightly shut and tried to even out his breathing to relax his knotted muscles. The Jedi Master attempted to knock himself into sleep again with the Force, but his waking mind stubbornly refused to yield to rest.

Kenobi blanked his mind, envisioning the warmth and peace of the Force…still, sleep eluded him. He slipped into a light meditation, but found that distinctly unsatisfying. He attempted to sink into a deep meditation, but found that his thoughts were too unsettled and turbulent to allow him the joy of the Force.

He counted to one hundred in Twi'lek. He counted to fifty in Huttese (_he was certain he skipped a few numbers here and there, but who was counting other than himself?). _He even tried counting Banthas leaping over a gorge, which only directed his thoughts to Tatooine, which in turn shifted his thoughts to that fateful day when his Master first battled the Sith apprentice years before. Red blades whirled and danced in his mind's eye—

Obi-Wan sat up on his sleep mat with a heavy sigh, throwing his light blankets aside. There would be no rest for the weary. He stood and stretched, groaning quietly as the rigid muscles refused to acquiesce with his request for elasticity. He let out a distinctly un-Jedi grunt of frustration, then settled on simple movement instead of his normal limber strides. Tense was one word to describe him. Irrefutably and tragically stiff was a much more accurate description.

Kenobi tottered over to his small closet and slipped on his tunic and leggings. If he could not sleep, the least he could do was attempt productivity. With a resigned, deliberate exhalation of breath, the Jedi General strode from his quarters and began to walk the Jedi Temple.

Where to go? He certainly could go to Archives, but knowing his luck, he would actually fall asleep there. Madame Nu would not be happy if she found him drooling over centuries of history and data. The last thing he needed was to be scolded by the keeper of the Temple Archives.

Obi-Wan wandered the Temple halls aimlessly until he reached the Room of a Thousand Fountains. He turned his weary gaze up at the towering waterfalls and lavish vegetation of the chamber. It pulsed with the energy of the Living Force, a well of peace and gentility in the midst of a world of concrete. He slowly sank onto the lush grass, not bothering with a graceful dissent. He landed with a comfortable plop, breathing in the sweet scent of the assari trees, sinking into the warm, comforting embrace of the Force as if it were a long lost lover.

The warrior closed his eyes in a slow blink and breathed deeply—

Only to open his eyes to see two large, curious sapphire orbs staring back at him.

The Jedi Master started, allowing an undignified "Oh—" to escape his lips as he rolled instinctively rolled away from the unknown intruder. A frightened squeak answered his motion as the tiny trespasser bolted into the shrubbery nearby. He abruptly stopped his movements as his gaze focused on the youngling who had somehow managed to sneak up on him.

Two large blue eyes stared back at him from inside a bhansgrek bush. The eyes almost seemed to glow in the gentle darkness.

"Come out, young one. I won't hurt you," Kenobi chuckled.

A small Mirialan boy emerged shakily from the bush, head bowed.

"What are you doing out of bed, little one? Aren't the crèche masters going to be looking for you?" Obi-Wan extended an inviting hand.

"I-I couldn't sleep, Master," he murmured. "I'm sorry. I know I'm not supposed to be out, but it was so dark and they were going to eat me and there was so much red and I—"

"It's quite alright. I'm not angry with you," he took a small, pale yellow-green hand in his. "You were having nightmares?"

"Yes, Master." Shy eyes finally looked up to meet his.

"Do you want to talk about them?" Obi-Wan gently prompted.

He shook his head fiercely.

"Very well then," the Master offered a comforting smile, hesitating. The most logical course of action would be to send the small one back to his bed. But something in his frightened gaze tugged at Obi-Wan's heart. Paternal instincts that couldn't quite be snuffed out even with years of discipline and Jedi detachment rose within him. _Old softy_…. He smiled ruefully to himself. Perhaps he was more like his own Master than he thought. It seemed as though he could never quite say no to a frightened child.

"Well, I have half a mind to send you back to bed, little one," the little boy trembled slightly. "But what if we just let this be our little secret." He smiled conspiratorially. "My old Master used to take me on adventures around the Temple when I was a boy and could not sleep."

The _responsible _thing would have been to send the child back to bed. The _Jedi-Masterly _thing would have been to gently reprimand him for being out at such a late hour and to go meditate. The _General-of-the-Republic _thing to do would have been to rise, dignified, and wrestle his consciousness back to sleep.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was tired of doing things responsibly. He needed a change. It seemed as though that change was staring him in the face with wide, innocent eyes.

The small initiate launched himself into Obi-Wan's arms, hugging his neck tightly. "Thank you, Master. Thank you!"

"Of course, youngling. Of course," he laughed quietly. "So, what is your name?"

"Tylen Shiren, Master. And you're Master Kenobi, right?"

"Yes, but you can call me Master Obi-Wan," he paused and thought for a moment, gently stroking his chin. "What shenanigans should we embark on first?"

Uncertain, excited silence was his only answer.

A wicked gleam flashed through the General's eyes. "Have you ever explored the hidden tunnels of the Temple?"

Wide, frightened eyes fixed on his. The fear faded as Tylen saw his wide grin. "No, sir."

"Will you promise to keep this mission a secret?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Well, then, little one. Come with me. We are going to have some fun…"

* * *

><p>"You see, I found these to be very useful when I was younger. But now that I've gotten older—" He grunted, sliding along on his belly. "It seems as though these may have gotten smaller."<p>

A giggle echoed behind him in the tin tunnel. "Or maybe you got bigger!"

"It's quite possible that you are right, little one. But here is our destination," he shifted, allowing the initiate to move along next to him to peer through the grate. He pressed a finger to his lips and dropped his voice to barely a whisper. "

"Below us is the infamous Anakin Skywalker's quarters," he mouthed. "To some, he is called the Hero Without Fear…but tonight, we'll leave him a little present to startle him a bit."

"Won't he be mad?"

"Perhaps," Kenobi hesitated, as if considering his statement. After a brief moment, he shrugged. "But it will be funny. Do you know what this is?" He hefted a small, sticky, violet orb in his hand.

He shook his head.

"This is a soap bomb. It is actually the color of Master Windu's lightsaber—"

"Purple—" he breathed, eyes widening.

"It's somewhat of a calling card for him these days, actually. Well, I'm going to put this in Anakin's shower—"

"And he'll think Master Windu did it?" Recognition dawned on the child's face.

"Yes. I tell you this because I'm trusting you can keep a secret."

He shook his head fiercely. "Yes, sir."

"Very well then," a boyish grin overtook the General's face. He quietly removed the grating and slid into the refresher unit below.

* * *

><p>They slid out of the maze of ventilation shafts nearly an hour later. Obi-Wan caught the seven year old as he dropped from the opening overhead. "Now then, young one, the prank that we just pulled is not something you should make a habit of doing."<p>

"Why, Master?"

"Well, for one thing, you should be sleeping at this hour." The initiate bowed his head in shame, but Obi-Wan quickly reached over to tilt his head up to meet his gaze. "This is not a rebuke," he soothed. He quickly cleared his throat and continued. "Another thing is that mischief, while tolerated, is not becoming of a Jedi. So…do as I say, not as I do. Do you understand?"

The yellow-green brow furrowed. "No, Master."

Kenobi chuckled. "Fair enough. Shall I take you back to the crèche?"

This question was met with a quickly repressed shudder and a squirm.

Curiosity raised one of the Jedi Master's eyebrows. So distraught…but over what? "Not yet then? Well, what should we do now?"

Their stomachs growled simultaneously and their eyes met in surprise.

"I guess that explains it. Let's go get something to eat."

* * *

><p>Bare feet swung rhythmically in midair, their owner watching Obi-Wan intently as he busied himself with various pots and pans in his small kitchen unit. He rummaged through the small refrigeration unit until he found the components he was looking for.<p>

"So, little one, would you like to tell me why you are afraid to go back to sleep in the crèche?"

The words came out in a hesitant mumble. "No, Master."

Kenobi turned inquisitive eyes on the child. "Well, it's possible that you need to talk to _someone _about it. There is no reason why someone as young as you should be losing sleep."

A heavy silence hung between the two Jedi.

"I can't tell you, Master," Shiren finally said, face etched with misery as he finally broke the silence. "You'll be sad." Large, luminescent eyes were filled with a compassionate sadness far beyond their years.

Confused and definitely curious, Obi-Wan levered himself onto the counter next to the little boy. "You can tell me. Dreams don't have power to hurt us."

Silence again. When the silence was finally broken, it was completely _shattered_.

"I was in the dark and _she _was hurting me. She just kept laughing and laughing and she didn't care when I cried." He took a gasping breath as the words tumbled from his small lips without restraint. The initiate pressed onward in his frightened tirade. "And then _he _came and killed _him_ and I knew that I had to stop him or else everyone I loved would die and there was so much red and it was humming and then the air was alive and then there were the bugs—"

At that point, the typically unflappable Jedi Master nearly stopped listening. The initiate was retelling every nightmare that had plagued his mind through the dark watches of the night. How was it possible?

Had he been broadcasting? Kenobi shook his head almost imperceptibly. If that had been the case, Anakin would have been at his door with questions and concerns.

How in the galaxy was this child intercepting his thoughts and dreams?

"And it just hurt, Master. It hurt so bad. And when I saw you in the Gardens, I _knew _that you hurt, too." Shiren bowed his head in shame, tears streaking his small, pale-green face.

Obi-Wan inwardly cringed but managed to keep the calm façade smoothed over his features. He reached out into the Force, seeking its boundless wisdom and comfort, grasping for answers. And as he reached, he felt it….the fragile beginnings of a fledgling training bond. He had heard it said in different circles of experienced Jedi Masters that they oftentimes _knew _a young initiate would become their Padawan years before they were of age to ascend to that rank, but he had never encountered such a phenomenon. He had been thrust into Master-hood, inheriting his own Master's child prodigy by the dutiful decision of a hasty promise. However, as he stared into the large blue eyes of the Mirialan boy, Obi-Wan could believe that sense of _knowing_—the sense of destiny that a child was to become something more to a Master.

Kenobi swallowed hard as the weight of potentially providential knowledge pressed in on him. He struggled to regain his voice.

"Shh, it's okay. It can't hurt you anymore," the General soothed, clearing his throat. "What you saw had to have been frightening, but remember, the Force is with you. Always. You can fight the darkness with the light."

"Yes, Master," the child sniffled. His eyelids began to droop.

Obi-Wan smiled as he lifted the youngling off the counter. "Let's get you back to bed. It's almost dawn and I'm sure the crèche masters will be looking for you soon."

The small boy reached up and took the General of the Republic's hand and sleepily followed him back to the crèche. Obi-Wan knelt in front of the large double doors that led into the youngling's quarters. "Now then, go rest. You need sleep so that you can grow up to be a Jedi Knight."

Tylen gazed into the Jedi Master's eyes quizzically, battling the weight of sleep that tugged at his eyes. "Will I see you again, Master Obi-Wan?" He lisped tiredly.

Kenobi's heart melted for a brief, vulnerable moment. "It's possible, little one. What does your heart tell you?" The unknowingly familiar words echoed through space and time within the Force.

The child's eyes shadowed for a moment and his lip threatened to quiver. "I don't think so. I-I don't know. Maybe. Yes?"

"The future is always in motion. We will see. Go sleep now," Obi-Wan patted the small shoulder and steered him back to his bed. "Rest well, little on," he murmured, resting a hand on the child's forehead, nudging him into a deep slumber.

As Obi-Wan wandered back out into the long corridors of the hallway, a small smile graced his normally stern features. Maybe once the war was over, he would return to the Temple and accept another apprentice.

_Maybe. Just maybe…_

The sun rose over Coruscant, granting the promise of another day—granting the promise of a potential future unshadowed by doubt and war.


	7. The Beginning of the End

**The Beginning of the End**

_Dedicated to Ruth Baulding, a wonderful writer and reviewer. Your use of language and poetic imagery not only make me swoon, but also inspire me to work toward new heights in my own creative endeavors. RB, you're a gem and I'm thankful you are not only a fellow academic, but also a writer. _**  
><strong>

* * *

><p>The first thing that he noticed was that the lights were far too bright. He blinked once, twice, finally at his third, harsh blink, light blurred and coalesced into vibrant color. He tensed, the battle rushing back to his senses. <em>Red bolts rained down around white armor, hellfire unleashed on the unsuspecting battalion. "Get down!" The brothers dove in striking unity and he knew that he had to do something to keep them safe. —The air seized, froze, then quaked around them, flinging crude matter and mud in all directions—a seismic charge? <em>Overwhelming white smeared with earth tones encasing green skin.

A green hand, tinged with the slightest undertones of gray and exhaustion, calloused but gentle, shielded his eyes. _Peace, brother. _The Jedi Master allowed his eyelids to droop once again. Sound was muffled as if he were hearing everything in slow motion or under the sea. He could vaguely make out words beyond the dull ringing that clogged his ears. Perhaps some dirt got lodged in his ear canal when the charge went off.

The Jedi healer spoke to Obi-Wan Kenobi, barely conscious on the medical examination table before him, as if discussing the weather. Kenobi's hearing began to slowly return as he kicked upward to the surface of consciousness. "And so we meet again, Master Kenobi. I hope that one day it will not be under these circumstances."

Obi-Wan managed a small groan as his blue eyes focused on the medical bay. _Blast. _He stared blearily up at the Twi'lek healer. Where had he met this Jedi before? _Ah. Yes. Bakura. _"Knight Noki'ido?" He tested words out on his tongue. His normally cultured voice came out as a distinctly undignified rasp. _That's unfortunate_. The Jedi Master frowned.

Noki'ido tilted a cup of water to the Master's parched lips. Obi-Wan drank gratefully and slowly sat up with help from the Twi'lek.

"We are very fortunate in this meeting, Master," the healer commented, turning to examine a datapad.

Kenobi swallowed heavily, then decided to make another attempt at speech. "How so?" Relief. His voice sounded better already.

"I did not have to sedate your counterpart this time. He is, however, en route with his Padawan and should be here within the next few hours," Noki'ido put the datapad down, walked over, and began to examine his patient.

_Anakin. Of course. _The General repressed an annoyed huff as the healer began his poking and prodding. "He has been stationed here, as well?"

"No, actually. I believe he has been sent to retrieve you and take you back to the Temple. There are rumors of peace on the horizon, but we both know how much stock to put into these rumors," the healer pressed gently on Kenobi's abdomen. "Any pain?"

Caught off guard by both the statement and the further examination, Obi-Wan winced. He shifted uncomfortably, still digesting the earlier words. _Peace? _"How long have I been out? I haven't heard of anything like that."

"You have been in bacta for several days and I have had you in a healing trance for the past twelve hours." Noki'ido shifted, recorded more notes onto his datapad, then turned back to the Jedi Master. "You were injured very badly, Master. What you need now is rest."

"What I _need_ is to speak with the Commander and debrief him on the battle," Obi-Wan started to sit up, his muscles trembling with exertion from too many days spent under a healer's care and from too many bones broken at war. He fell backward, defeated and betrayed by his own body.

"Rest, General. There is still time. The war will still be out there when you are healed…unless the whispers of peace are true, of course," a mischievous spark flared in Noki'ido's emerald gaze.

Obi-Wan sat for a moment, wracking his still fuzzy brain. _Rest. _The oft-repeated word seemed to jar a conversation loose from the dregs of Obi-Wan's memory. "Rest? And what of you, Healer? I believe the last time we spoke you were in need of some rest yourself if my memory serves me. Or have these rumors of peace breathed new life into you?" He turned a scrutinizing eye on his fellow Jedi. The Negotiator drew his best weapon—his tongue.

Noki'ido chuckled quietly. "You are correct on both accounts, Master." His visage became serious. Honesty. The Jedi owed one another honesty always. The green skin, which was dull and mossy with the onset of exhaustion and illness at their first meeting seemed to almost have a gray undertone. _Fatigue—near collapse_. His hands no longer shook. _Did his hands even have enough energy in them for the extra motion of tired quaking? _ "At this point, I feel that I will need a lifetime of rest to recover from this war. But I took an oath to preserve life. And as long as there is life left in this crude matter, I will press on."

"So you understand that is why I must also take my leave of this medical bay. I, too, took an oath to protect the Republic, to protect those who are weak, no matter the cost." Obi-Wan moved slowly, deliberately, breathing in strength as he accepted his body's limitations. Victory was at hand. The Negotiator rarely failed.

"And of course that is why you understand that I can't sign your release yet. To preserve your life, I have to deny you."

Stalemate.

The Negotiator _rarely _failed. That did not mean failure was impossible. It usually meant that there was only a slight delay in victory. Obi-Wan leaned back against the cushioned examination table. He could bide his time. Hadn't his own Master long ago reminded him to be patient and mindful of the present moment? He yawned.

Besides, he could use a nap…

The Jedi Master peered up at Noki'ido accusingly, struggling to see past rapidly drooping eyelids. _A sleep suggestion?_ He had been betrayed twice: first by his own body, second by this healer.

That mischievous glint returned to the Twi'lek's eyes. The same hand that greeted him when he first awoke passed over Obi-Wan's eyes and was the last thing that he saw before he drifted off into a deep, peaceful sleep.

* * *

><p>"He is resting. I thought I told you scavengers to wait until he was discharged before descending on him—" A familiar voice pierced his slumber. Obi-Wan allowed himself the luxury of floating in the blissful stage between sleep and wakefulness. <em>The healer is agitated. Good for whoever is causing it. <em>A half smile graced the Master's features even in sleep.

"Nokii, we are hardly scavengers." A new voice interjected, female, with a subtle, strange accent reminiscent of an enemy he knew once before.

"We are _investigators_. There is a difference." Yet another newcomer spoke up, this time male, with a slight core accent. The new voice dropped to a whisper as if he realized the subject of their conversation was shifting toward wakefulness. "It will not take long, Nokii. Please. We will be in and out in moments. No harm done."

Noki'ido released a heavy sigh. He grumbled an obscene phrase in his native language. Obi-Wan's eyes opened in surprise at the utterance, new wakefulness coming along with the mild amusement of hearing the healer's profanities.

"Master Kenobi."

Obi-Wan sat up on his own this time and regarded the two newcomers carefully. A tall, fair skinned, fair haired male stood before him, accompanied by his diminutive counterpart, a smaller, dark haired female.

"This is Knight Zave Vorun and Knight Allyah Khai. They would like to have a few words with you if you do not mind, Master," Noki'ido glared meaningfully at his two companions. "They will not be long."

"Of course."

Noki'ido nodded and left the small examination room, but not before hissing a warning, "Not long."

And then they were alone. The door slid shut behind the healer.

Obi-Wan took in the two Knights standing before him. They bore the saber, but no robes or Republic insignia armor. "Sentinel class, I presume?"

"Yes, Councilor. We will not take much of your time. We come at the behest of Grand Master Yoda, who recommended you as a source in an ongoing investigation we have undertaken. We merely have a few questions to ask you in regards to an occurrence from around two years ago." Vorun, the male, spoke first.

"Which occurrence?" Obi-Wan tilted his head slightly to the side, thinking back on the many significant points of the war.

"Zigoola, Master."

The General tensed. _No one _knew of Zigoola. Only Yoda and Senator Organa knew of the horrors of that Force-forsaken planet. The momentary slip in Obi-Wan's composure was quickly smoothed over by the currents of the Force. _There is no emotion. There is peace. _"And what do you need to know?"

The female, Allyah Khai, stepped forward. "Master Kenobi, what can you tell us about the Holocron you encountered on Zigoola?" Her dark eyes clouded over, the question of the Sith artifact bringing not only memories of darkness for the Master, but also shadows and remnants of untold tales that the two Knights had faced.

"I can tell you that it is locked away where it belongs," Obi-Wan blew out a long breath, organizing his thoughts. There were times in the dark watches of the night that even the _memories _of Zigoola were still painful, a saber burn reopened and aggravated by the heat and movement of war. But he was stronger now because of it. Pain was a teacher, if nothing else. "It was…dark. The darkness encompassed the entire planet. The darkness made me _see _terrible things."

"How much ground did you cover on Zigoola?" Zave pressed on, ever the practical one of the team.

"I'm not certain exactly. Much of it I spent incapacitated. If you want specific numbers and _that _sort of data, I'm sure you could get access to that portion of the archives from Master Yoda."

"Fair enough. Did you interact with the Holocron at any point?"

"Yes. I was able to use it to contact Master Yoda for help."

"Did it…talk to you? Other than the oppressive repetition of evil and malice?" Vorun's voice dropped low at the end of his question as if he, too, were suppressing a shudder from a past experience.

Obi-Wan studied the two Knights yet again, their facial expressions, the undercurrent of wisdom on the subject of the Dark carved into their Force signatures. _A clear knowledge and experience with the Sith. Sentinel Shadows_. He inwardly amended his initial label of the pair. "Why do you want to know?"

"We need to know if it said anything about another Holocron, if there was perhaps another Holocron hidden on Zigoola, or if there was perhaps a link in the one you interacted with on Zigoola to one elsewhere in the galaxy," Allyah supplied hesitantly. "I wish we could tell you more, Master, but—"

"I understand." _Undercover. It is no wonder that they came without Republic insignia and without announcement from the Council. _ "And no, I sensed nothing of that sort from it."

The two Knights straightened simultaneously. A curious look passed between them, words and impressions floating through the Force on a bond that the Jedi Master could not access. Vorun turned and bowed deeply, "Thank you for your time, Master." The pair began to leave the room, leaving Obi-Wan to his memories and speculations.

Allyah began to follow the taller Knight from the room, but paused, indecision and confusion written on her face. "Master?" The tides of the Force shifted, turning and twisting with unanswered questions.

A weighty, aching confusion leaked out of her mental shields and drifted over to the Jedi Master on the ebb and flow of the Force. Obi-Wan looked up, his expression softening. "Yes, young one?"

"W-What….how were you able to go on after being in such close contact with so many artifacts of the Sith? Your stories have become legend and I—I was wondering—" The young woman faltered, unsure of how to proceed.

"You were wondering how I am still standing?" Obi-Wan chuckled slightly. He had often wondered the same thing himself.

If the General had learned anything in his life, it was that the Force was rarely a nursemaid. It was an ever-present guide, a teacher even in the fires of whatever hells the Jedi may face. The Force turned the hells into a refining furnace, purifying a Jedi's heart, the saber crystal of the Force, until it was simply and utterly at peace with the Light.

Kenobi sighed, considering his next words carefully. "I can only assume that you have experience with the Dark, young Shadow. Correct?"

Allyah nodded mutely. Zave watched from the doorway, face impassive, eyes almost dreading the words to come next.

"All of the pain that I have endured at the hands of the Sith and because of the Sith has guided me. As Jedi, we cannot lean on pain as a crutch. That can only lead to fear, anger, hatred, suffering. But pain can be a teacher, much like the Force. Simply trust the Force, young ones." Obi-Wan's voice dropped to a murmur. _Wisdom hard-won, payed for in blood, in tears. _Yet it was well worth the price. "That is all I can tell you. There is no place in this galaxy where there is not the Force…and that is all a Jedi needs."

The young Knight swiped hastily at her eyes. Tears? An unbecoming display of emotion for a Jedi Knight— If Obi-Wan saw the tears, he pretended not to notice them. She bowed deeply. "Thank you, Master."

And then they were gone. Just as quickly as they came.

* * *

><p>Noki'ido reentered the medical examination room to find Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi dressing, albeit slowly, returning to his Republic insignia battle fatigues.<p>

Noki'ido busied himself with his datapad again, preparing the release form. "Master, how are you feeling?"

"Better, thanks to you," Obi-Wan nodded gratefully. "Were those friends of yours?"

"One could call them that," the healer smiled absently, transported for a moment back to the crèche, when innocence reigned and there was no conflict and no creeping darkness that the Jedi could not defeat. "We were in the same clan, raised together." He straightened and handed the datapad to Obi-Wan. "I trust they were not too bothersome. Your signature?"

"Not bothersome at all, actually. Challenging, not bothersome." The General pressed his thumb to the datapad, signifying his release from the medical bay. He stood and stretched until his spine conceded a gratifying pop, testing out his freedom. "Thank you again, Healer."

The two Jedi surveyed one another and exchanged deep bows of respect.

"May the Force be with you, Master."

"And may the Force be with you. Let's hope those rumors of peace are true."

Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi strode down the hall to press on, always striving for peace, a beacon of the Light, in the midst of war and the slowly creeping darkness.

* * *

><p><em>Thus ends the conversations from the battlefield, but this is far from the over. <em>

_Coming soon, a post-Order 66 installment to see where the Jedi featured in In War find themselves once the Clone Wars end and the Order crumbles._


End file.
